


Exercises in Trust

by AgentStannerShipper



Category: Star Trek: The Next Generation
Genre: 5+1 Things, Bathing/Washing, Courting Rituals, F/M, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Getting Together, Sharing a Bed, artist!data, i love a tender bath scene, musician!data, theres other people but they'll all in the background, this android is just completely gone on this security chief you guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-20
Updated: 2020-01-20
Packaged: 2021-04-25 18:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22329640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AgentStannerShipper/pseuds/AgentStannerShipper
Summary: Five courtship rituals from Turkana IV, and one from Omicron Theta.
Relationships: Data/Tasha Yar
Comments: 14
Kudos: 64





	Exercises in Trust

**Author's Note:**

> I'm not completely happy with how this turned out, but it's cute fluff, so it's good enough. This was supposed to be a tiny ficlet. Of course it was. Many thanks to MHMoony in particular for giving me the idea, and the rest of the gang for egging me on.

**1.**

“Alright.” Data turned just in time to see Tasha throw down her field kit and flashlight on the stone floor, dropping down after it so she sat sprawled out on the rocks, wincing as she flexed her feet inside her boots. “This is as far as I go. We’ll camp here for the night.”

Obligingly, Data stopped too, although he did not sit. Even with the amount of walking they had done, both during the survey mission and after it had gone awry, his feet did not hurt. He glanced around at the cave walls, then pulled out his tricorder and scanned them. Just as their outward appearance was identical to the rest of the rock formations they’d encountered, so too this stone was safe, free of harmful background radiation or dangerous minerals, save for the ones blocking their combadges. He nodded at the confirmation and tucked the tricorder away again, looking to Tasha. “The formation of this chamber does provide better protection than most of the passageways we have found. We should be safe here.”

“Perfect.” Tasha rubbed her feet, kneading them through the boots, and winced again. “I hate survey missions.”

Data inclined his head. “Prior to our mishap, you seemed to be enjoying this mission.”

Tasha grinned at him, nudging a foot against his leg good-naturedly. “Human foible, Data. We have this awful tendency to like something right up until it goes wrong.” She shivered suddenly, wrapping her arms around herself and rubbing them for warmth. “God, it’s cold.”

“This portion of the planet’s surface is descending into night. Even this far into the cave systems, we can expect the temperature to drop further.”

“At least the wind doesn’t come in this far,” Tasha sighed. “As far as I’m concerned, this place is barely Class M. It’s too damn cold.”

It wasn’t even as cold as Andoria, but Data did not point that out. Instead he knelt, setting aside his own field bag full of samples and science equipment. He rubbed his palms together, stimulating the circuitry in his hands until he felt an emergency subroutine kick in, heating the bioplast. “Here. Allow me.”

Tasha leaned into the touch without reservation, a testament to their years of close friendship, and although Data was not capable of feeling, there was still a sense of…pleasure, in knowing that she trusted him. He massaged the warmth into her shoulders and down her arms, and Tasha moaned in appreciation. “Thanks, Data.”

She rolled her neck, cracking it, and then pulled her bag closer, rummaging in it and pulling out a ration pack. She bit into it, licking her fingers absently, and melted into a slouch against him as she ate. “How do you think the others are doing?” she asked.

“Considering they were on the open side of the cave in, it is likely they returned to the entrance and have been beamed back to the _Enterprise_. It is equally likely that something in these caves is preventing them from getting a fix on us, just as it blocks our combadges.” Data hesitated. “I…I am sure they will find a way to retrieve us soon.”

Tasha craned her neck back to look at him, her eyes full of mirth, even though Data didn’t think he’d said anything funny. She grinned at him, her mouth full, and shook her head. “I appreciate the reassurance.”

“Is that not appropriate for the situation?” Tasha was Data’s friend, perhaps his closest one besides Geordi, and he trusted her not to lie to him. He knew the others couched their language sometimes, not wanting to bruise feelings he did not possess, but Tasha had always been bluntly honest with him. It was a trait he appreciated more than most.

“It’s fine,” Tasha told him. She leaned into his hands a little more, looking up at the ceiling, where their shadows were shifting in the dim light. “I’ve slept in worse places, with worse company. So I’m not worried. But it’s still nice, all the same.”

Data did not have to press further to know she was referencing Turkana IV. “You should sleep,” he said. “Rest, while we wait for the _Enterprise_.”

“You’ll keep watch?”

He nodded, and Tasha didn’t argue, scooting until her back was pressed up against the wall, her field bag under her head as a pillow. Data shifted closer too, and Tasha gave him a look that he was unsure how to interpret. It was not the first time he had seen it, but he hesitated to ask. Tasha was a deeply private person, and Data would rather have the mystery than pry.

“Do you mind if I turn over?” Tasha asked eventually, gesturing towards the flashlight. “It’ll be easier to sleep that way.”

“I can turn it off,” Data said, reaching to do just that. “I can see satisfactorily in the dark.”

“Oh. Okay, then.” For a long moment after he switched the light off, Data could see Tasha watching him in the dark. Eventually, even without it on, she turned over to face the cave wall, her back to him. Data rested a hand on her side, his palm still buzzing with warmth, and kept watch.

The _Enterprise_ found them in the morning, as it always did. Tasha squeezed his hand just before beam-up, shooting him another one of those unreadable looks, and Data suddenly had a feeling that something momentous – something he could not yet comprehend – had just occurred.

Weeks later, he overheard Deanna telling Tasha about her childhood slumber parties, while Tasha listened with rapt, if incredulous attention. “You all just…sleep in the same room?” Tasha asked.

“Of course,” Deanna said.

“How do you protect your back?”

If Deanna thought it was an odd question, she didn’t show it. “You don’t need to.”

Tasha snorted, and it was a sound that Data recognized as being close to a laugh. “On Turkana, you _never _sleep with your back towards anyone. _Ever_.”

“Never?”

Tasha hesitated. Data was an android, and his heartbeat was regular, designed to propel fluid to keep his systems lubricated. Still, for a brief moment, he felt as if it stilled. “Well,” she said eventually. “Sometimes we would. For someone special.”

**2\. **

“Can I ask you a question?”

Data looked over to where Tasha was splayed out on his sofa, one arm thrown back over her head so it dangled from the armrest, the other propping up a PADD on her chest. He pushed his chair away from his terminal and tilted his head towards her. “Of course.”

She twisted to look at him, and Data had the irrational thought that she was equally aesthetically pleasing upside down. He ignored it; he’d long since given up running diagnostics over his reactions to Tasha. He could document them at least as far back as they night they did not speak of, under the influence of the polywater virus, but he had never been able to find a fault in his systems. The feelings were irrelevant. There was a reason they never spoke of that night, and for the sake of their friendship, Data was willing to chalk it up to an unusual quirk of his programming, a byproduct of their friendship. They had come too far to go back.

“You’ve studied tons of cultures,” Tasha said, reminding Data that she had a question for him. “Different rituals they do…how they live their lives…”

“I have studied a number of cultures in my quest to be more human,” Data agreed. He didn’t give her the exact number – in bits and pieces, it counted at three hundred and sixty-seven now, some much more extensively than others. He didn’t want to bore her with the details. Having Tasha in his quarters to “hang out” while they completed work off shift was a routine he had come to appreciate. It was as important to him as poker with the bridge crew, and one he avoided jeopardizing it at all costs.

“Have you ever looked into Turkana IV?” she asked, and Data blinked twice.

“The Federation does not have access to much data on Turkana IV. I know an overview of the history, but little else.”

She nodded, as if he’d answered a question, and he had, but Data spent enough time around humans to understand that there was something he was missing in the exchange. Tasha turned her attention back to her PADD, ticking off boxes on security team details. “It was an interesting place to grow up. Horrible, don’t get me wrong, but interesting.”

Data stayed quiet. Tasha volunteered so little about her life before the Federation, and he recognized this moment for the trust that it was.

“There was…a thing we did,” she told him, reaching into her pocket and fiddling with something. She pulled it out, and from across the room, it looked to Data like a piece of colored glass. She turned it over in her hands. “Turkana IV was…a dangerous place to live. Violent. There were always fights going on. Sometimes…if you knew you were going to get into a scrape, you might give someone something. Only…only someone special to you.”

“There is a similar tradition in ancient Earth history, as well as some other cultures,” Data said. “Young women would give knights a handkerchief, or some other token of their affection, prior to major battles. There is evidence of it as both a familial and a romantic gesture.”

“That’s…really interesting, Data.” But there was a furrow in her brow, which did not mean ‘interesting.’ It meant ‘worried.’

“Are you alright, Tasha?”

“I’m fine!” She sat up suddenly, and her smile was bright, but it reminded Data of the smiles he practiced in the mirror. She stood, crossing the room in a few long strides, thrusting out her hand with the piece of glass pinched between her fingers. “I want you to have this. Just, you know. In case.”

Data looked between her hand and her face, then took the shard from her, examining it in the light. The edges were smooth, and it looked old. “What is it?”

“It’s…an identification chip. From when I was…” Tasha closed her mouth and swallowed hard enough that her throat bobbed. She rubbed her chest absently, and Data nodded in understanding. He closed his fist carefully around the chip and looked up at her.

“You are special to me too,” he told her, and he knew he had it right when she smiled, this one small but honest. He added, “I would return the gesture, but I do not own many things of sentimental value.”

She laughed. “That’s okay. I didn’t expect you to.”

“I would like to reassure you that the _Enterprise_ is not scheduled to go into battle at any time in the near future.”

“I know.” She squeezed his hand, then took a seat on his desk, legs crossed with the PADD in her lap. “I still want you to have it. It’d make me feel better. Knowing you did.”

“I will keep it close,” Data promised, and tucked it into his pocket before turning back to his terminal. Tasha resumed working too, in that comfortable quiet Data had come to appreciate.

When he woke up in Engineering ten days later, after a fight with an energy-conducting alien race had sent his systems into overload, it was to find Tasha curled up by the table, her back pressed against his side, her chest rising and falling in easy sleep. “She’s been there for hours,” Geordi whispered to him, helping him sit up as he ran a diagnostic tool over Data’s torso. “She wanted to be here when you woke up.”

Data touched his side automatically. He couldn’t feel the chip through his bioplast skin, but even though it wasn’t active – it was meant to work for humans, not for him – he could still feel that it was there, safe and sound.

He brushed Tasha’s hair out of her face. “I am safe. We won.”

Against his hand, she stirred, and even though her eyes didn’t open, a smile bloomed on her lips. “We won.”

**3\. **

On the _Trieste_, there had been a mess hall. Data had never really used it, because he didn’t need to eat. He had, once or twice, been invited into the Captain’s private dining room, but the ensuing events had appeared awkward for the humans involved once they’d been reminded that Data didn’t eat. After a while, they stopped inviting him, and Data understood. Not eating at such a function seemed rude, and even mimicking eating could be unsettling to watch, his movements too mechanical, his lack of true enjoyment obvious. The _Enterprise _was large and well-equipped enough that it had no mess hall, which made everything much easier.

“Thanks for meeting me here today,” Tasha said, crossing over from the replicator and dropping a heaping plate of food on the table. Data examined it curiously: some kind of meat chunks swimming in a red sauce, mixed vegetables, and potato disks. Tasha took a seat in the chair next to him. “I’ve been on back to back shifts with these security drills, and I haven’t eaten in…” She paused, brow furrowing as if she was counting, and then shook her head. “Too long. So thanks.”

“Thanks are unnecessary,” Data said. “We do usually spend time in my quarters. It is fair to meet here as well, considering that you may derive more comfort from the familiar surroundings.”

Tasha laughed. “Data, at this point, your quarters _are_ familiar surroundings.” She pulled the plate closer, so that it sat about halfway between them, and leaned forward over the table, picking up her fork and knife. They were sitting cattycorner to each other, and the shift in position put Tasha’s right elbow and knee into Data’s space. He didn’t mind.

“Besides, I don’t much care where I eat. It’s just nice to do it off of plates. With _silverware_.” As she spoke, Data watched Tasha methodically divide the plate, eyeing the meat chunks and separating them by size onto either side of the dish, half pulled towards her and half pushed away. “And you know I love spending time with you. Sometimes it’s the highlight of my day.”

“I appreciate it. I, too, enjoy your company.”

She looked up at him and grinned, although there was a shy quality to the smile. “Thanks.” She looked back down, doing the same divide with the vegetables, counting out each different kind and splitting them evenly. “So. How’s Spot?”

“She is doing adequately. I still do not understand why she dislikes the majority of the crew, considering she is so affectionate with you, me, and Lieutenant Barclay.” He frowned as Tasha counted out the potato disks and sliced the odd-numbered one in two, nudging it apart into the two separate piles. “Tasha…what are you doing?”

“What?” Tasha hesitated, her utensils hovering in the air as she suddenly froze. She dropped them against the plate with a clatter. “Sorry. Sorry.” She hung her head. “I didn’t…I forgot, you don’t eat. You wouldn’t want…”

Data cocked his head, his frown deepening. It was true that the half of her plate Tasha had pushed away from her had been pushed in his direction. “Your intent in dividing the food was to share it?”

“It doesn’t matter.” Tasha seized the silverware again and in one shove pushed all the food into a mass in the center of the plate, the meat sauce swirling into the potatoes, leaving little bits of carrot and peas to float towards the edges.

Data hesitated, and then reached out, placing a hand on Tasha’s elbow where it rested on the table. At the light contact, she collapsed, slumping forward and folding her arms in, although she didn’t move out of the touch. “I’ve never really shared a meal with anyone,” she admitted. “I mean, in the dining halls or on away missions, sure, but not in private. Not like this. It’s…”

“Special?” Data offered. They seemed to be using that word a lot lately. It was apt, although Data could not be sure if it meant the same thing to each of them. He was not entirely sure what he thought it meant himself.

The tiniest smile broke through. “Yeah. Special,” she agreed. She lifted her head to look at him. “It’s a Turkana thing. You never really knew where your next meal was coming from, and you always had to fend for yourself. Whatever you found, you kept, that was the rule. Hell, even siblings…” Tasha got a faraway look on her face, and Data tilted his head, but did not ask. Eventually, Tasha shook out of it. “Anyway, it meant something. Dividing food evenly. It meant you were on equal footing, that you were planning on sticking together.”

“And, you intend us to…stick together?” The colloquialism tasted good in his mouth, not that Data would ever say it aloud. He liked the way it felt, practicing new language, the funny little plays on words that people adopted instead of more straightforward speech. He could almost taste them, the way people tasted food. This one was sweet, or what he imagined sweet might taste like, if he could truly taste.

“I do,” Tasha said, and Data smiled.

“In that respect,” he said, “I have something for you.”

“Oh?” Tasha leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms and smiling. “You didn’t have to do that, Data.”

“I believe it is only fair,” he told her. He touched his side gently, over the uniform. “I keep your gift close. It reminds me, when we are in trouble, what I am fighting for.”

“Oh?” she said again, and it wasn’t quite so playful this time: trying to be, but hiding a thickening in Tasha’s throat that obscured the words slightly. “What are you fighting for, Data?”

“Humanity. Mine, of course, but also that of the people I care about. People like you, Tasha.” Data pulled out a chip, not much bigger than the one Tasha had offered him, although this one was set into a pin. “Deanna was able to help me set it. You could wear it in your hair, or on your uniform, if you like.”

“It’s beautiful.” Tasha picked it up, cradling it in her palm. “Where did you get it?”

“It is made from some of my excess circuitry. I recently made an upgrade that rendered a small portion superfluous. I used some of it to make this for you.”

Tasha stared up at him, her mouth agape. “So this…this is a part of you?”

“In a technical sense, yes.”

Tasha pressed her lips together, blinking rapidly. “I love it,” she managed after a moment. “Thank you.” She stood, crossing over to the mirror and arranging it in her hair, just behind her ear, before turning to face him. “Well? What do you think?”

“I think you look beautiful,” Data answered. It was, in truth, what he always thought, but the admission made her smile grow. She took her seat again, her legs stretching out into his space, and Data pressed his ankles against hers. It seemed the correct thing to do. As Tasha picked up her fork, drawing a potato disk towards her, Data impulsively picked up one too, popping it in his mouth. It didn’t have any taste – just potato, 100%, except for the sauce residue, which was mostly tomato and water – but based on the way it made Tasha’s eyes light up, that was the correct thing too.

**4\. **

“Data, you’ve been staring at it for hours without moving the brush,” Tasha told him. “I think it’s done.”

“I believe it is still missing something,” Data responded without looking, his eyes still firmly fixed on the painting. “And it has only been thirty-two minutes and forty-seven seconds since I last made a mark. I am…contemplating.”

“Well, I think it looks amazing.” Tasha came up behind him, her footsteps alerting him just before her arms slid around his waist, her chin resting on his shoulder. The amount of touch they exchanged was increasing as of late, but Data was far from adverse. He let his free hand move to cover hers, but he still did not look up from his canvas.

“It lacks soul,” he decided. There was no life in the image. It was a two-dimensional representation, nothing more.

“It’s got plenty of soul,” Tasha argued. She slid a hand free to gesture at the sweeping lines of his brush. “Look at the textures! It’s so much better than anything I could do!”

“Technical skill does not equate to feeling.”

Tasha laughed, tapping her forehead against Data’s shoulder before releasing him. “That doesn’t mean it’s not good. You’re your own worst critic, and I’m telling you, you’re selling yourself short.”

“I do not believe I-“ Data turned, and his vocal systems momentarily stalled, leaving his mouth open for a fraction of a second as he took in the walls of his quarters. He closed it. “Tasha?”

“Hmm?” She was still looking at the painting, her head tilted as her gaze flicked between it and Spot, the subject, who was currently winding around her ankles. Her fingers were covered in smudges of chalk dust, but the slate Data had set out for her remained blank. He stepped towards the walls, examining the yellow streaks that formed intricate patterns, twists that reminded him of circuitry and wires.

“You appear to have…decorated.”

“Oh!” Tasha whirled, eyes wide, and covered her mouth with her hand. “I’m sorry! I should have asked first, shouldn’t I? I can wash it off, I promise-“

“I would ask that you do not,” Data cut in. He trailed a finger along one of the lines, pulling it back and examining the chalk dust that came with it. He wiped it on the yellow portion of his uniform so it would not make an obvious smudge and then turned back to Tasha. “They are aesthetically pleasing.”

“They are?”

“You are a skillful artist.”

Tasha blushed, tucking a stray hair back behind the pin that held it. “They’re just scribbles.”

“I disagree.” The more Data looked, the more he could see the mechanical designs in the pattern. “They are reminiscent of my circuitry. It is clear you put some thought into them.”

Tasha shrugged and, at an insistent headbutt from Spot, picked up the cat, stroking her fur. “I was just thinking about us, is all. The time we spend together. It just sort of flowed from there.”

That odd sensation in his chest returned, but only for a moment, and as usual, Data dismissed it. “Why did you choose to use the walls instead of the chalkboard? It is an interesting choice in medium.” He hesitated, taking in the deepening color in Tasha’s cheeks, and made an educated guess. “Is this another ritual of Turkana IV?”

She nodded. “It wasn’t chalk, usually. There weren’t exactly many art supplies kicking around. We used rocks, charcoal sticks, anything that would leave a mark.” She suddenly became very interested in Spot, staring down at the cat in her arms. “I mean, I say we. I was pretty young, so it wasn’t like I ever…I mean, I wanted to, once or twice, but there wasn’t anyone…” She trailed off, swallowing hard.

Data frowned, studying her intently, but she didn’t offer more. Finally, he asked, “Would you like me to return the favor? I cannot promise the work will be quite so heartfelt, of course, but-“

“No!” Tasha’s blush turned command-red, and she shook her head fiercely. “That’s not really…I mean…” She took a deep breath. “Chalking was for shared spaces. Specifically, the shared spaces where, well…” Spot jumped from her arms, and with her hands suddenly free Tasha fidgeted.

Data took a step closer to her. “Tasha. Are you attempting to indicate that you are more comfortable here, in my quarters, than in your own?”

“Kind of,” Tasha agreed. She sighed. “I _like_ being around you, Data, and I love spending time here with you. It feels kind of like…like a home away from home.”

“I am…pleased you feel that way.”

“You are?” She looked up at him, and Data nodded.

“You are a very guarded person, Tasha. That is not a critique, but I have observed it to be true. That you feel comfortable with me, when so few other would say the same, is very important to me.”

“Oh.” She smiled. “It’s important to me too.”

Data looked over her shoulder, back at the painting of Spot. “I believe you are correct. It is finished.”

Tasha followed his gaze, looking relieved at the subject change. “You think so?”

“I am still not convinced it is a satisfactorily expressive piece, but I have done what I can to capture it.”

“Well, I love it,” Tasha said.

“You may keep it, if you’d like.”

Her eyes widened. “Really?” Already she was reaching for it, so Data took her interest to be genuine, not feigned as he knew his crewmates often were about his artwork – although he did appreciate Geordi’s interest in his art, and Picard’s in his theatre, even if he felt that turnout at his musical performances and poetry readings were simply to be polite – and a peculiar warmth spread through him.

It was a familiar sensation with Tasha. He decided, again, not to run a diagnostic. “Really,” he said. He nodded towards the chalked walls. “Consider it my way of…returning the favor.”

Tasha laughed, throwing an arm around Data’s shoulder and dragging him in, squeezing him in a half-body hug. “I’ll put it up as soon as I get home.”

“And I will ensure that your drawings are preserved. It would be unfortunate to ruin them on accident.”

“Don’t worry about it, Data.” Tasha waved a hand. “They’re not meant to be permanent. If anything happens, we can just redraw them.”

“Do you promise?”

Her eyes sparkled. “I promise.”

“Good.” Data plucked the painting from the easel and handed it to her. Tasha cradled it to her body like it was fragile, careful not to smudge the still-drying paint. “I will see you tomorrow, then?” he asked.

“Tomorrow,” Tasha said, and that was a promise too. One that filled Data with the same warmth, even after the doors to his quarters had slid shut behind her.

Perhaps he would run that diagnostic. Just to make sure.

**5\. **

It was not a good mission. So often was the _Enterprise _crew successful at diplomacy that Data forgot, sometimes, how poorly a first contact mission could go. Or, he didn’t forget, because an android couldn’t really forget – not without outside assistance via a mishap or memory purge – but every so often that information shuffled to the back of his memory databanks, unaccessed until moments like these.

It was not a good mission.

Tasha limped off the transporter pad, wincing in pain even with Data supporting most of her weight. The rest of the landing party looked no better; they were all sporting uniforms torn from weaponry and brambles, their clothes and skin smeared with dirt and blood. Riker had slashes on his cheeks, Picard’s shoulder was bleeding profusely from a deep stab wound, and of the security team that had accompanied them to the planet’s surface, less than half had beamed back. The others were lying dead somewhere, waiting for their bodies to be retrieved by the transporter if possible. Even Data hadn’t escaped unscathed. His own clothes were torn, his bioplast grimy with dirt, but he at least was bloodless.

“We should proceed to Sickbay,” he suggested to the silent room. He recognized the tension, the stillness in the air as everyone caught their breath, and so he spoke quietly. “Captain?”

Picard blinked his way back to reality and nodded. “Quite right, Mr. Data.” He glanced around, clutching his shoulder, and pressed his lips together in a tight line. “That goes for all of you. Including you, Number One.”

“Captain, someone should be on the bri-“

“You can join them as soon as Doctor Crusher has cleared you.” Picard’s tone left no room for argument. “Until then, I’m sure they can manage without us.” He strode out into the corridor as confidently as a man could with such a severe shoulder wound, already speaking into his combadge, commanding them to leave orbit as soon as the deceased members of the away team had been retrieved. Riker followed reluctantly, and Tasha waved her team ahead. She bent down, out of Data’s grip, and panted, her hand braced on her good knee. She was listing heavily to the right.

“If you are having trouble walking, I can carry you,” Data offered. “It would be inadvisable to put unnecessary pressure on your leg.”

Tasha snorted, but the amusement was audibly tinged with pain. “I’m not having you haul me through the corridors where anyone can see. The last thing the _Enterprise _needs is to think their security chief is weak.”

Data cocked his head. “But you are not weak. You are sporting an injury-“

“It’s not happening, Data.” She groaned, forcing herself to stand upright again, although she couldn’t help hunching slightly. “Okay. Let’s go.”

She made it two hobbling steps before she nearly collapsed again. Data caught her before she hit the floor. “Okay,” she panted. “You can help.” She pointed a finger at him, close enough to his nose that he went cross-eyed looking at it. “But no carrying. I just need a little support, is all.”

“Of course, Tasha.” Data wrapped an arm around her, taking most of her weight onto himself again. “You know, as your superior officer, if I truly wanted to carry you, I could make it an order. It would be justified, in light of your injury.”

“And that’s what I like about you, Data.” Tasha laughed, patting his cheek as they headed in the direction of Sickbay. “You don’t abuse your power to get your hands on me.”

Data blinked, frowning. “Of course not. You are my friend. That would be a viola-“

“I know, Data. I know.” Tasha shushed him, and then hissed as a wrong step jolted her. Data did not suggest carrying her again, and with minimal discomfort they made it to Sickbay.

Riker and most of the security team had been discharged, and Doctor Crusher looked up from running the dermal regenerator over Picard’s shoulder when they came in. “Take a seat. I’ll be right with you.”

Data helped Tasha up onto one of the biobeds, taking her leg in his hands so it did not hang. He was unsure if that was the correct protocol, but it made him feel useful. Tasha slumped back, one arm propping herself up as she let go of some of the tension she had been holding. Her free hand went to her hair, checking that the pin was still in place. Data was irrationally pleased to say it was.

“Okay.” With Picard satisfactorily dismissed, Doctor Crusher approached them, and Data moved out of her way so she could get to her patient. She ran a medical tricorder over Tasha, focusing in on her leg, and tisked softly. “That’s a nasty gash.”

“Could be worse.”

Doctor Crusher gave Tasha a skeptical look, eyebrows raised. “Could have been better.” She peeled the sodden cloth away, the blood-soaked fabric making a soft, wet noise as it separated from flesh. Doctor Crusher glanced at Data and smiled. “You can go now, Data. Tasha’s going to be fine.”

Data nodded, turning to leave, but Tasha cut him off. “Stay, Data. Please.”

He looked to Doctor Crusher, who shrugged. “If you want, feel free. I just need a minute to knit the muscle back together.” She fetched a few tools from a tray, and Data watched as Tasha’s skin folded back together, the pain visibly vanishing from her face. “There,” Doctor Crusher said eventually, stepping back and folding her arms. “I’d recommend staying off that leg for the next few hours, and I don’t want to see you at work until tomorrow’s shift.”

“Thanks, Beverly.” Tasha smiled, hopping off the table and staggering. Data caught her again, and she blushed. “Stay off the leg?”

“Stay off the leg,” Doctor Crusher repeated, smiling indulgently. She looked to Data. “Why don’t you escort the Lieutenant back to her room? See that she actually sits down for a change.”

Data inclined his head. He took Tasha’s arm again, but allowed her to support most of her own weight this time. Still, she kept a tight hand on him, and every time she staggered, he was there.

At the door to her quarters, they paused. Tasha brushed a self-conscious hand through her hair, her fingers lingering on the pin. “You probably aren’t on medical leave, are you?”

“No.”

Tasha bit her lip, eyebrows raised. “Do you have to go back to the bridge?”

Data hesitated. “No. My shift is almost over, and any work I need to complete can be done from a personal computer terminal.”

“Use mine?” Tasha offered. There was something underneath the words, and Data was powerless to it. He nodded, and allowed Tasha to invite him in.

She had hung the painting of Spot in the entryway, he noted, pausing to examine it as the door slid closed. Tasha didn’t stop, moving past him towards the bathroom. He heard a faint voice command, and then running water, and lifted his head to look. Tasha, tired and dirty but still smiling, leaned in the bathroom doorway, watching him. She made a beckoning gesture with her fingers, and Data took an automatic step forward as if pulled, a sub-program he hadn’t consciously developed flaring to life. Fascinating.

He came to a halt just in front of her, head tilted down to meet her gaze, and Tasha reached out, her fingers squeezing his bicep gently and then camping there. “Hi,” she murmured.

Data blinked in confusion. “Hello.”

“Computer, lights to sixty percent.” The room dimmed, and she held his eyes. “I’m not crazy, right?”

“I am not a psychologist, and therefore not fit-“

“Data.”

He stopped. Tasha was watching him, and it was with the look he had tried so hard to quantify from her. And maybe he understood.

“No,” he said. “I do not believe you are crazy.”

“They’re courting rituals, you know.” Tasha brushed the pin again. “All the stuff we’ve been doing…the Turkana rituals. Dating’s a little different in a place like that. It’s less flowers and more…trust.” She clasped her hands, fidgeting with them. “I wasn’t sure if you knew.”

“I did not. However…” Data hesitated. “I do not wish you to think I am taking advantage of you.”

That startled a laugh from her. “Taking advantage of me?”

“The…night that did not happen. I have considered why it upset you so greatly, and determined that the most likely cause was me. That I upset you. The polywater should not have affected me as it did, and yet-“

“Data.” Tasha took his hands and gripped them tight. “It wasn’t you.” She sighed, eyes dropping to the floor. “Well, maybe part of it was you. Losing control like that…it scared me. And I couldn’t help thinking what the crew would say, if they knew. That I wasn’t in control for one second and the first thing I did was throw myself at an android. What would that say about me?”

It was a rhetorical question, so Data waited for her to continued. Eventually, she looked at him again. “Looking back, I’m ashamed of what I said to you. Your friendship is important to me. And I know you don’t have feelings, but…” She seemed to be searching for something in his eyes. Data could only hope she found it.

“Ever since that night,” he said, “I have felt…an affinity for you, unlike the way I feel for Geordi, or the captain. However, I avoided analyzing it because I did not want to risk our friendship.”

“But you’re analyzing it now?”

He opened his mouth to confirm, and then paused to clarify, “Am I correct in assuming your intent is for our relationship to change?”

Tasha smiled. “If you want to.”

He nodded. “I would like that.”

“Then come here.” Still holding his hands, Tasha drew him into the bathroom, and as always, Data allowed himself to be led. “There’s another ritual,” Tasha told him. “This one is more...intimate.” She let go of his hands, bending down to test the water temperature, and then nodded in satisfaction. “Of course, we didn’t always have bathtubs, but it works even better with one.”

“When you say more intimate…?”

Tasha grinned, turning around and looking at him over her shoulder. “Help me take this off?”

He stepped forward automatically, his fingers making quick work of the fastening, peeling the fabric from her torso. She sat at the edge of the tub to peel her pants off, and Data examined her leg, but all traces of the wound were gone, only a faint red residue of caked blood remaining around the site. A gentle hand on his chin forced him to look up, and he met Tasha’s gaze. “Your turn,” she said.

Data shed his own uniform with only a brief hesitation. His modesty programming made standing nude before Tasha slightly uncomfortable, but her smile soothed him. “You’re beautiful,” she told him.

“I believe that compliment would be more accurately applied to you,” he returned. Tasha laughed.

“Come on.” She stood, stepping backwards into the tub, and pulled him along with her. Like the ‘freshers in the officers’ suites, it was big enough to fit two comfortably, and the water was an interesting texture against Data’s skin. It was rare the he was ever this submerged.

“This isn’t going to affect your circuitry, right?”

He shook his head. “I am quite resistant to water.”

“Good.” Tasha ran her hands curiously over his chest and shoulders, mapping the false skin. Her hands were warm, leaving an unusual sensation in their wake, similar to the satisfaction he got from their casual touches, but somehow deeper. He watched her work, and then lifted his head to watch her face.

“Tell me more about this ritual,” he requested.

“Well,” Tasha said. She reached behind her for the soap, lathering her hands. “Like the others, it’s an exercise in trust. Like this, there’s no weapons, no protection. Just you and me.” She placed her hands back on him, scrubbing some of the grime from his body. “Getting clean was a luxury. But trusting someone else to do it for you, trusting that they wouldn’t put a knife in your back and run off with your clothes and food? That was an even rarer luxury.”

“I am…glad…you can share it with me.”

She did not comment on the emotional word, but her smile told him she hadn’t missed such a deliberate choice. “Me too,” she said.

“May I return the favor?”

She nodded. “This one you can definitely return.”

With that permission, Data reached for the soap, sliding closer to her so that their legs were intertwined. Tasha shuffled closer, until she was all but in his lap, and Data took her arm between his hands, cleaning off the dirt and blood of the mission.

They worked in silence, only the gentle lapping of the water and Tasha’s quiet breathing breaking the still of the room. Data handled Tasha’s leg with particular care, and when she tilted his head back to clean his hair, he went willingly underwater.

“There’s another ritual I’d like to try out,” she murmured when he resurfaced, biting her lip and looking up at him from under her lashes. “If you’re interested.” Data’s memory banks recalled that look, but this version was less predatory, if no less coy. “Although this one’s the same for most people, I think. I doubt the people of Turkana IV do it any differently.”

“Based on limited experience,” he said quietly, because there was no use pretending that night had not happened anymore, not when she was looking at him like that, “your assessment appears correct.”

Tasha’s expression softened. Under the water, her hand found his, and held it. “Is that your only experience, Data?”

“Yes.” He wondered if she thought that a good thing or a bad one, but it didn’t matter. Not when she was so close. “I am aware there are still a great many variations I have not experienced, but for my…first time, it is an experience I recall with fondness.” He hesitated, “Humans place a great deal of importance on first times, do they not?”

Tasha laughed softly. “Some humans do.” She rubbed her thumb over the back of Data’s hand, and she grinned. “So, variations, huh?” She paused, and now he fully recognized the coy look from before. It was predatory, and even without the polywater’s affect, Data realized that…excited him. “Want to try out a few right now?” she purred, untangling their hands to stroke suggestive fingers up his arm.

Very specific and largely unused sub-programs were flaring to life, and Data let them. “I would like that,” he said.

“So would I.” With that, Tasha straddled him, winding her fingers into Data’s hair and pressing their lips together. Data wrapped an arm around her back, pulling her flush to him, and kissed her back. He was, of course, unpracticed, but she knew that. She didn’t appear to mind.

**+1) **

Data finished with a flourish, the final notes still echoing around Ten Forward, and Tasha was on her feet and clapping well before he took a bow. The others joined her, although most didn’t share her enthusiasm, and chose to remain sitting. It was a modest crowd, mostly made up of friends and family of the other performers, but Picard was there, and as Data descended from the stage to give the next performer time to set up their instrument, he approached where the two of them were standing towards the edge of the group.

“You were great,” Tasha gushed, wrapping her arms around one of Data’s. He transferred his violin and bow to the other automatically to accommodate her, leaning ever so slightly into the touch.

“A beautiful piece,” Picard agreed. “And you played it well.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard it before. Who was the composer?”

Data hesitated. He looked between Tasha and his captain, both of whom were watching him expectantly. Finally, he refocused on Picard, admitting, “It is from one of the colony members of Omicron Theta. He initially composed the piece for the flute, so I was required to make significant changes in order to translate it from a woodwind to a stringed instrument. The result, therefore, could be considered an original variation on the theme.”

“So, you wrote it?” Tasha translated, albeit slightly incorrectly.

“You could say I co-authored it. The initial version was stored in his logs, and as he recorded much of the writing process, I do have some sense of his memory of writing it.”

“It’s very impressive,” Picard said, nodding in approval. “You’ve come quite a long way from basic mimicry, Data.”

“It means a great deal to me that you think so, Captain.” Data glanced towards the stage as the opening notes of a Vulcan lyre sounded, and the trio fell silent, listening to the music for a moment before Tasha tugged on Data’s arm. He looked down at her, and with a slight jerk of her head he got the message. He nodded respectfully to Captain Picard, who gave a small, polite smile in return, and they left together.

“Sorry,” Tasha said as they stepped out into the corridor, the word broken by a yawn. “I know it’s rude to leave after the person you care about is done, but I’ve got an early morning tomorrow, and-“

“You do not need to justify it. You are not an android, Tasha. You do require sleep.” She required more than she got, but she claimed she was sleeping better now that Data shared her bed more nights than not, so he was willing to let it go. So long as her health was not in jeopardy, he would never interfere with her life like that. “I am glad you were able to attend at all.”

“I wouldn’t miss it for anything.” Tasha gave his arm a squeeze. For someone who had once been loathe to let the crew think there was anything going on between them, she now showed no signs of concern over her open display of affection. They truly had come far.

They had almost reached Data’s quarters when Tasha said, “It really was beautiful. I had no idea you were even working on a new piece.”

Data gave her a side-long look, but he kept his eyes ahead when he answered. “I intentionally worked on it when you were otherwise engaged. I wanted it to be a…surprise.”

“Oh?” Tasha grinned, raising her eyebrows. “You make it sound like a present.”

“In a way, I intended it to be.” They came to his quarters, and Data only needed a brief glance at Tasha to confirm that she didn’t intend to return to hers for the night. She followed him in, and when the door shut behind her, he continued, “The original song was written as a gift to his fiancé, with the intent to play the completed piece at their wedding. The movements were designed to reflect their personalities, and the journey they shared together.” He still did not look at her, bending down to pet Spot as she came padding into the room, looking for attention. “When I was making changes, I was conscious of that choice, and while I have preserved a more perfect translation of the original, to honor that notion, I also…made an effort, in composing, to make the piece sound more like…us.” It had not been easy. Capturing Tasha in words was difficult enough. To explain her beauty, her bravery, and all the unique and indescribable things she meant to him using only a series of pitches and tones had seemed all but impossible. Capturing himself had been more straightforward – he had focused on a sharp, technical precision earlier on, bleeding into a smoother and richer sound as the piece progressed – but he still was not confident that Tasha was truly reflected in the bold lower notes and steady, if occasionally brash, tempo.

Arms encircled him from behind, drawing him back to a stand, and Tasha pressed her forehead between his shoulder blades, leaning into the embrace. He felt the pressure of her lips, and then she murmured, “You wrote us a love song.”

He turned so he was facing her, tilting his chin down to look at her just as she tilted hers up. It put their faces scant inches apart, their noses nearly brushing. “I do not have a people the way you do,” he told her. “And I have no memory of growing up in a culture as you did. But I have fragments. You have given me so much, Tasha. Your love, and all the intricate rituals that surround it. I wanted to give this back to you. It is the best I could do.”

“Oh, Data.” Tasha shook her head. Her eyes were shining, but she looked far from sad. “It’s perfect.” She rested her forehead against his. “What happened to that couple? The one the original song was for? Did they ever get married?”

“No.” It took effort to say the word. Data could not be superstitious. His programming was incapable of it. And yet, speaking it felt…ominous, somehow. “There is no record of their marriage. As far as I am aware, they were destroyed by the crystal entity before they were able to do so.”

“Oh.” Tasha sobered. Her hands clutched Data a little tighter. “That’s sad.”

“It is tragic.”

They stayed there for a moment, locked in the embrace, and although Data was not psychic in any respect, he believed there was a roughly eighty-seven percent chance they were thinking approximately the same thing.

“You should go to bed,” he said eventually. “You must be up early in the morning.”

Soundlessly, Tasha agreed, moving with him towards the bedroom. They readied themselves for bed together, and then climbed in, Tasha wrapping herself around Data’s back to spoon him. It may not have been the Turkana way, but they could both agree that it was a far superior way to rest. Tasha’s hand slipped under his shirt, her thumb stroking Data’s side over the spot where her identification chip rested, and Data closed his eyes, calling for the lights to dim and readying his sleep subprogram for activation.

“Data?” Tasha’s voice broke through the darkness, soft as a whisper but as clear to him as it always was. “Will you play that song again tomorrow?”

“If you would like.”

“And the day after that?”

“I will play it whenever you wish.”

“Everyday, then,” Tasha said, the words infused with warm satisfaction. “Forever.”

It was not an accurate measurement. Data’s time was indeterminable, but Tasha’s was certainly finite. And yet…

“Forever,” he said. “I promise.”


End file.
